


Just One More Day Inside This Life

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 21,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Nyx survives the fall of Insomnia, and nothing is going to stand in his way of getting back to Noctis. Come hell or high water, he will not let Noctis travel without him now.





	1. Reunion

No one ever expected Insomnia to fall. No one ever expected to watch those glorious, shining, bright buildings to burn, to crash, to crumble around the millions of citizens helpless to fight back. No one had expected the end of the Crown City to be as dramatic as it was— as violent as it was, as devastating as it was. No one had ever expected something so bright, so hopeful, so protected and loved, to crumble around them. 

Nyx had never expected to survive the fall of the Crown City. 

Before the dust had cleared, before Libertus could find him, before he could be recognised by the Niffs, he had crawled into the shadow of the rubble. Before he could question why he was alive— why he had woken with a feather burning on his chest, why he wasn’t even good enough to sacrifice for the city that had taken him in— Nyx’s survival instinct had kicked in. Burning, gasping, scarred, charred, he had eventually struggled his way through the shattered city, unrecognised by the occupying Niff forces. 

No one in the Crown City had ever expected to face the world as a refugee. Not even those who flooded the gates years ago, searching for safety and promises of hope, expected to make the same walk back out of the once-shining jewel of the Lucian kingdom. 

Nyx had never expected to join them. 

His uniform was a mess. He shed as much of it as he could when he made his way into the crowd once he could walk again. He shed as much of his Glaive nature, and regressed back to the fearful, hopeless trudge of the refugee fleeing an occupying force. He was hardly the worst among them— hardly the most devastated by the fall of the city. When he could walk again, he joined the long march out of the city. 

Someone he didn’t recognise gave him a supply of elixers salvaged from somewhere. Someone else ushered him towards the other burn victims for treatment. Another gave him an old coat when it got dark. 

Nyx had forgotten the kindness of the city that had first welcomed him in. What he had fought so hard to protect before he knew Noctis and really had a chance to know the kindness of the king. 

In the kindness of the others around him, he saw the kindness of the royal family. 

In Hammerhead, he hitched a ride to Galdin Quay. 

The ocean reminded him of Noctis. Not the blue of it. Not the wild freedom of the waves. Not even the warmth of the sun on the sand and the cool breeze drifting in. He could picture Noctis and his entourage taking a moment here, spared the horror of the city— Noctis standing on the pier off to the quiet side of the beach, insisting on taking a fishing break while they waited for the ferry. 

It was in the Galdin Quay that he learnt the news that Noctis was presumed dead. That Luna was presumed dead. That in the fall of the city was the fall of the only symbols of hope anyone had in Eos. His stomach dropped and the fear that he had been holding back— the fear that had been eating away at what was left of his resolve, his strength, suddenly rushed forward. 

It was in Galdin Quay that someone recognised him. He had bunkered down with another group of refugees waiting for the ferry for calmer lands. For a way out of Niff territory. Two or three were from Galahd, and they knew the hero of the Kingsglaive when they saw him. 

Before he could make an escape— before he could struggle back to his feet on the warm sands— they told him he was safe with them. That they had heard of a resistance building in Lestallum; a resistance headed by the remnants of the Kingsguard. 

Someone mentioned a rumour of the Regalia heading that way. That there was a kid who had just left the Quay when he heard about the trouble. 

Nyx begged a ride with all the persistence of a man at the end of his rope. 

It was a strange sort of pursuit. There were rumours at every outpost of the fancy car with the strange young men. The strange, kind young men. The new hunters taking on the odd jobs around the Duscae, and Nyx was always a step behind (he should have known to stop at the Chocobos). He was always struggling, limping, chasing the rumour of a prince that the world seemed happy to think was dead in the burning city. A step too far behind, hoping to at least spot the Regalia at a gas pump (that kid was going to go broke if he was driving everywhere, Nyx had at least hoped Ignis would have more sense than that); Gladiolus or Ignis sorting through maps, Prompto chasing around with his camera to document everything. Noct— healthy, living Noctis— just there. Just waiting. 

In Lestallum, he was pointed towards some merchant who had asked the errand prince to fetch some goods from a van out in the middle of the wilds not even a day before. 

He spotted Gladio first, as he stumbled on the steps down from the highway. It wasn’t from relief he would tell himself later. It was the journey. The poor treatment of his injuries, the struggle to catch up to the most infuriating royal this side of Eos, his own idiotic persistence to see his prince with his own eyes. 

“Ulric?” 

“Never thought I’d be glad to see you,” Nyx tried to smile, to brush off the concern, to push away from the help being forced on him. He tried to stand on his own, he really did. He was a soldier, he didn’t want to see Noctis when he could barely stand on his own two feet. He didn’t want to see Noctis worried, concerned, angry. “Where is he?”

He wanted to see Noctis. More than anything in the world right now.

Noctis had been fishing. Of course he had been fishing. Nyx was crawling halfway around the world and Noctis was fishing. 

He wasn’t far from the campsite, Gladio reassured him, forcing Nyx to sit for at least a proper examination. The river was peaceful enough, and whatever was lurking around down there, Noctis was far more dangerous. He had Ignis and Prompto to watch his back, and Nyx wondered if Gladio was just trying to get him to sit still. 

“I need to see him.”

“Give me a minute.”

“Gladio—”

“Shut it, Ulric. You don’t get a say in this.” There were bandages— long strips of them, stark white and unused, unravelled. A formality in the first aid kits brought along in the Regalia. There were elixers and potions, curatives, status solutions, things Nyx had only ever seen in field kits. But the burns weren’t normal, they weren’t external. He wasn’t burned because he got too close to the fires that tore through the Crown City as it crumbled around him. “What happened to you.”

“Tried to be a hero.”

Nyx realised then that he had actually missed Gladio’s laugh. 

They had picked a calm spot— the road above was mostly quiet, the river mostly calm. The camp looked over the rocks and gorge and it was beautiful in the sun. It was green, and living, and Nyx could only breathe deep while Gladio tried to make him presentable. The river, the wind, the sun… The happy chatter of Prompto teasing his best friend— his new king— drifted up from the river. For the first time since the fall of Insomnia, for the first moment in the past few days, he didn’t feel the pain of alien magic clawing its way through him, trying to burn him away, stalled for whatever reason Nyx could not fathom. He could close his eyes in the sunlight and not worry that he might miss the fanciest car in all of Eos driving by, he could relax while someone tried to fix the damage done to his arm, his side, his neck, his face. 

Neither had noticed that they weren’t alone until Prompto’s chatter stopped. Until the wet sound of meat hitting stone brought Nyx back to the deceptive peace around him. Until the sudden light of too-calm sunlight was was blocked by wide, surprised, worried eyes, and there was a familiar hand hovering over the ashen scars and flesh and twisting vein pattern Nyx took with him from the city. 

“Nyx?” 

Nocis was there, in front of him. Within reach. Right _there_. And all Nyx could do was smile in the face of all that worry, all that relief, and all that grief he was suddenly faced with. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks, princeling.”

It was hours before he could speak to Noct alone. Hours of telling and retelling the whole damned disaster of it all. Going over the details for Ignis, trying to reassure Prompto that there were survivors out there, trying to recount the names and faces he remembered as he stumbled through the dust and heat of the refugee march to Hammerhead. Hours of going over the treachery, and the sacrifices— of telling Noct what his father had said, of what Luna had done. 

By the time he could wrap his good arm around Noct, feel that solid body against his again, breathe in that familiar scent, it was dark. They were tired. They were drained. 

It was too nice a night to stay in the tent, Prompto had said after dinner. He wanted to get some shots of the stars for his collection before he set up his bed out in the cold air and on the hard stone. Ignis had some work to do, he claimed— he and Gladio needed to go over this new information and decipher it, look for something they could use. It would take most of the night. 

Nyx needed rest, Gladio said (despite the glare his patient would give him), and Noct needed to learn how to handle a first aid kit. 

It was hours before they were at a loss for words for each other. Hours before Nyx realised that he didn’t need to catch up anymore, that he wasn’t a step behind. That he had found a healthy, living, livid Noct. 

He wanted to stay like this, face pressed against soft hair smelling of hotel shampoo and soaps. He wanted to stay like this, his good arm wrapped around Noct’s waist, eyes closed against the tickle of his hair, listening to his own breath and waiting for Noct’s to match it on instinct. He wanted to stay in this dark tent, listening to the campfire outside crackle and smell the smoke drifting passed. He just _wanted_. 

Noct was not that patient. Never that patient when there was a silence looming between them. When there had to be something said between them. Anything. Relief, gratitude, anger, anything that encompassed the thought that the other might be dead for days. The apologies that Nyx knew were on the tip of Noct’s tongue, the reassurances on his. The words of affection neither of them really expressed when actions were better and louder and easier for them 

Nyx was never very romantic, he didn’t want to see that hurt— the remorse, the fear, the anger— in Noct’s eyes when he looked at them again. When he pulled away to look over the lover he had thought was dead or running or hiding for days, he wanted to see a familiar smile; “Your ancestors are dicks, you know that? Don’t give them an inch, Noct.”


	2. Odd Man Out

Nyx expected to wake with Noctis pressed against his chest, with his arm around the prince. He expected the traditions of early mornings to still stand, and for Noctis to still cling to him until he needed to be teased awake. He expected the same routines as the mornings of his days off, with Noct curled around him until coffee and food was ready and Nyx had time to admire the view for a while. That he would be scolded for moving too early, for waking Noct up too soon, and that the scolding would turn into a petulant little sulk he could kiss away.

“He wanted to let you sleep,” Ignis informed him when he made his way out onto the stone slab that served as their little haven against the night. 

If it wasn’t Ignis there, working over breakfast, perfectly pressed and scrutinising every detail Nyx was too tired to contemplate, he would have found this little camp a reassuring sight. “Where’d he get off to?”

“Morning run with Gladio.” When Ignis offered him coffee in the city— in that spacious apartment that could devour Nyx’s own little home— it had always been a polite obligation. A show of diplomacy though Ignis clearly thought that he shouldn’t be offering coffee and breakfast to people coming out of the prince’s bedroom. Not that Nyx had spent much time at the apartment; Noct seemed to prefer showing up on his doorstep instead, picking up bad habits from him rather than the good ones from Ignis. 

But Nyx could live for that coffee, for Ignis’ cooking. Even if it came with a stern look, a disapproving glare after the feeling of being dissected and found inadequate (after the old Kings of Lucii, Nyx thought he could handle some disapproval from Iggy). It took all of Nyx’s willpower to not sputter that coffee out. “A morning run?”

“I know, I was as surprised as you when it started.” There was a smirk there, Nyx knew it. Maybe not on the face, but in the voice. “Prompto seemed thrilled with the prospect, too.”

“I’m out of the picture for a week, and you’ve got Noct out on exercise?”

“Cooking too,” Ignis had something going on his grill, Nyx could smell it now that he was awake. “Or at least learning the basics.”

Nyx could think of a thousand things to say to that— jokes, congratulations, flippant remarks. He could think of a thousand things to say that would egg Ignis on, tease, downplay the (quite impressive) progress Noct seemed to make in becoming engaged with something like self-preservation. He could think of how it would have been in the city, in that too-big apartment when they had once faced each other like rivals over a mug of diplomatic coffee in stolen mornings. But this wasn’t that apartment, this wasn’t the city. He wasn’t going to just smirk his way through riling someone up and saunter back down to his own little level so far below the world he liked to force his way into. The world Ignis had once told him he wasn’t a part of— not in words, but in gestures and attitude and in the way he made very certain that Nyx knew he had yet to earn a place so close to Noct. 

He didn’t need the reminder from Ignis, even back then— as long ago as it felt, when it had only really been last week. Nyx knew that he was unique among the companions Noct kept close. He hadn’t been selected by the king and court at an early age because of his family, training, expertise, or proficiencies. He knew that he was not, and never could have been, like Gladio and Iggy— the choice of everyone who mattered as companions and advisers for the young prince to associate with. 

He knew that, as kind and patient as King Regis had been— as dedicated to his son as a father could possibly be— he would not have chosen Nyx to be an influence on the prince. Not as a friend. Certainly not in the capacity he was now. He was fully aware that he would not have been picked as anything other than a body to throw in front of an assassin if it came to it. If everything in the royal line had actually gone according to plan. 

Lucky for him that his princeling had issues with other people’s attempts to plan his life.

Gladio and Iggy had been picked early. They came from reliable, vetted families. They had the history of trust already behind them. They had expertise in what they did. Right out of school and Gladio could have been heading armies. Out of school early and Ignis could dismantle arguments and faulty treaties. 

He hadn’t been lifted up to the inner circles like that. Nyx knew that he couldn’t help Noct understand the elements and theories behind his ability to draw magic from the little breaks in the world, where magic sparked and burned and slicked the surface of the stones and arcs. He couldn’t teach Noct about the codes of conduct for an honourable battle and the strategy of a fight between armies of thousands. He didn’t have Ignis’ command of the palace libraries and archives and access to the finest strategists the royal family could afford. And he didn’t have the years— the lifetime— on training fields and with weapons like Gladio; and certainly not the time or practice of teaching a myriad of weapons to others. 

Nyx hadn’t even forced his way into Noct’s life with the bullheaded persistence of Prompto. That endless desire that kid held to be better, to be worthy, to live up to being Noct’s friend. 

Nyx had his knives, and his tricks, and his total lack of self-preservation sometimes. 

He could see Noct keeping up with Gladio up on the pavement of the highway, Prompto keeping pace while still chatting and cheering and stopping to fiddle with his camera. He could see the comfort and ease that Noct interacted with the companions chosen for him— years of familiarity bleeding into friendship. He could see the jagged edges of himself that didn’t quite fit with the maintained and perfected balance of the others. 

“He mourned you,” Ignis— perceptive, calculating, kind Ignis— interrupted his thoughts. Refused to let him pass them off. “He mourned everyone, but it was you he asked the Kingsguard about.”

There was an opening there, they both knew it. A moment where Nyx could brush off the reassurances, take it all as statement of fact, at face value. That there was a moment there that he could be glib and infuriating and irreverent. 

Instead, he smiled, and watched Noct pretend to sulk as Gladio teased him for his posture and form while running. “Noct’s always had a big heart.”

“Maybe so, and it’s chosen you,” Ignis had turned back to the food on the grill, finishing off the breakfast now that he had a reason to be busy. His back was to Nyx, to the prince taking the steps down to the campsite two at a time. To the prince’s smile and bright eyes. To the quick little kiss Nyx tried to draw out as Prompto snapped off pictures and words to make his friend blush. 

Nyx knew that in an hour, the camp would be a burst of activity. That he would be dragged off by Noct to assess the full damage to his arm— to test his good arm with a new dagger (he would insist). In an hour, Gladio would be loading up the car with the dismantled camp, and Ignis would be marking their map. Nyx knew that, within the hour, Prompto would be laughing and drawing out smiles from everyone he could, camera ready to get every candid moment and action shot— that the mission to get a really good picture of Noct warping would be back on, now that he had someone to help with the timing. 

He knew that he was unique in this little group. That he wasn’t supposed to be here. That he should have died as the city crumbled around him— crushed in the rubble or burned as a sacrifice. That he had no right to be here, sharing the camp, the food, the weight of responsibility with the new king and the companions that had something to offer him. That he shouldn’t be taking this moment to enjoy the sun and the breeze, and the sounds of movement and the river and the noise they made scaring off the wildlife.

But as Noct smiled and stole his coffee, and loaded his plate up with the vegetables Ignis had tried to sneak in, he knew that he was Noct’s first choice. And that was enough.


	3. Assessments

“How the hell do you still have this arm?” 

They had taken an extra day at the campsite. An extra day to figure out the logistics of fitting Nyx in (of Prompto suggesting he and Noct ride their rented Chocobos while the rest took the car. Ignis and Gladio shot that idea down faster than Nyx could laugh at it). An extra day to re-evaluate plans, to make new ones. 

To enjoy the weather while they tried to figure out if a kid’s story about a haunted waterfall and a legendary sword were worth checking into after all. 

A day to assess just how useful Nyx was going to be. “Just lucky, I guess.”

He had most of his range of motion. Despite the burn scar, it was really only the skin that took the damage as far as they could tell. Muscles, tendons, everything still worked, and Gladio had found that if there was any limitation to Nyx’s arm, it was no worse than getting banged up. No worse than a dislocated shoulder. Recovery would be no worse than getting poked and prodded and told to move. 

And even though the fires had died down sometime when he was trying to track the wayward, wandering Noct, his skin was still ashen grey. Still warm, still charred. But not tight, not pained, or torn when he tried to move (or when Noct had fallen asleep on him). Sore, a little; maybe a little warm, but he was hardly turning to ash and dust now. His body wasn’t fighting against the magic of the Lucii that had left him like this. There was no ember glow just beneath the surface now, no ash flaking off with the reminder that he had promised to pay with his life— that this wasn’t a future he was supposed to see. 

He could tell Ignis was curious about it, that Gladio was worried it was a liability. 

Prompto just took pictures until Noct dragged him off to the fishing spot he had staked out. 

“When did you learn all this, anyway, Gladio?” He had expected Iggy to be the medically talent one. The one to know how to treat sprains and breaks and measurements of curatives. 

“When Noct figured out how to warp head first into a wall.” Gladio had worked out a sling for Nyx. A precaution, in case there was something he was missing— in case there was a strain he had missed, or a break that he had glossed over. 

Nyx chuckled at the thought, at the memory of Noct excited enough to learn how to warp that he probably did use it to get away from Gladio when he was frustrated. The Six knew the little brat started trying to warp away from him until Nyx reminded him just who taught him his tricks in the first place. “I taught him to aim, you know. He just never listened.”

He could stretch, and move, but he remembered the pain— the burn of the magic trying to consume him like the wood Gladio dragged in for the campfires. He remembered the feeling of just being kindling for someone else. He also remembered being shot and breaking his leg (at least he thought it had been broken— the power he had used ended up getting him back on his feet long enough to forget the details).

But at least he could still hold a pair of daggers. 

He could still protect Noct. He knew that was all he had left now. 

Gladio slapped him on the shoulder— the bad shoulder, the one that he had just tested and wrenched and prodded while trying to see if Nyx was in danger of turning to ash in a strong breeze. “Up. Let’s see what you have left in you.”

“I hate you.”

“Good. Get up.”

They didn’t have practice weapons, just a spare set of daggers that they had intended to sell. Picked up after the last hunt because Noct seemed to like picking up anything that shined the right way. They were a good weight, a good handle. But Nyx missed his knives. He missed having those familiar weapons tucked close and in his hands, now probably stored by the Niffs or broken beneath the rubble of the city. 

By the time Noct and Prompto were summoned back to camp, Nyx and Gladio had given up trying to beat each other to death. They had drinks, they now had food, and Nyc now knew that the remnants of the magic he had borrowed was gone. There was _something_ edging into his mind where he used to feel the ebb and flow— the call of magic borrowed from King Regis, but it was dull and quiet and he couldn’t quite tap into whatever it was. His own proficiency, they had decided, must still be there, but the well was dry with the loss of the Ring and without a king to feed into the power. 

“Can’t Noct help you out?” Prompto held up the little flask Noct had poured refined magic into. A little glass bottle cracking and sparking with a power no one else in the group could create other than Noct. 

Other than their new king. 

Ignis considered when eyes turned to him, stalling as he thought the problem through with a sip from his can of Ebony; “Theoretically, Noct would be able to lend his power. We’ve used his spells from time to time as needed. But it might need the Ring to be effective. Or training.”

They had all seen Noct draw the magic out— pull it free and open— and force it to his own will. They had all, at some point, watched him shape his spells. Watched as he broke apart the elements and a catalyst and forced the remaining _power_ into a tiny magic flask. They had all watched him do the work in seconds that Ignis could barely replicate in hours. In hours of work with the bases that Noct could provide and store and shape. 

But there was a difference than handing over a finished spell, and letting someone else tap into the source of it.

Technically, Nyx knew that he could shape the spells with the right training and work. He was proficient, but it wasn’t his default instinct. Not like Noct, or Crowe— who could pull magic from the King’s reservoir and shape entirely new, devastating weapons from it. 

“Dad never taught me that,” Noct said, after a moment of thought. “That whole sharing thing.”

“We have time to figure it out.” It was a reassurance Nyx knew Noct would need to hear before he thought too hard about what he was missing that his father had in spades. “I still have your back anyway.”


	4. Behind the Waterfall

There were daemons in the depths of the cave. Goblins and imps with sharp claws and teeth, things of children’s nightmares and the dark. Things that lurked through the dusk-like shadows and milling in the dark corners, leaving gouges in the stone and ice. The deeper they went, the darker and colder it got. And despite the little lights they carried, they could hear the claws dragging across the ice in the long shadows and glittering ice without spotting the creatures that stalked them. 

The threat of those claws, of those creatures that haunted and hunted inexperienced hunters, did nothing to stop Noct from launching himself headfirst into a pack of the beasts. Nyx had barely recovered from the lurch down the icy slope and the sudden stop at its base before he got his first real look at Noct fighting without the safety and padding of a training match. 

Even as everyone rushed into the fray to back him up, it was clear that Noct had everything under control. The air crackled around him as he blinked in and out of warp-strikes— cutting down one creature and warping out of range from the next one’s attempt to retaliate. By the time the rest of them were able to get into the fight, it may as well have been done. 

“Geeze, Noct,” Nyx breathed, glancing over the king for any sign of injury (it was just a precaution, really). “Where the hell did you learn to do _that_?”

Gladio snorted, already moving ahead to find the safest path forward. “That idiotic rushing in? Probably from you.”

“Well, glad I could teach him something so hot.” 

As they progressed, slipped and carefully stepped across the ice and stone, Nyx found that Noct wasn’t entirely without some sense of strategy. He didn’t just rush in without thinking, he seemed to have the sense to always be searching out an escape route— a point he could warp to that was out of reach and had a moment to recover. More than once, as they lost their footing on some new slope deeper into the mountain, Nyx slipped past Noct as the younger man clung to a wall or the pillars of ice just ahead with his own daggers. Before they lost sight of each other, Noct would warp ahead to another point and get his bearings, usually to then launch into the creatures just waiting for unaware adventurers. 

It wasn’t recklessness: it was giving the rest of them a chance to get their guard up. Noct had an advantage they didn’t, Nyx knew that he wasn’t going to let a handful of beasts and monsters get a surprise attack in on his friends. 

When the air had settled and they had caught their breath, Nyx had to grin. “Definitely hot.”

The blush was worth the punch to his shoulder. 

There were far too many paths in the cavern— far too many routes and drops and ice-smoothed edges that could take them down a level if they weren’t careful. The air around them was stagnant, cold and stale, moving only around the handful of stones Noct could draw elements from. There were bridges and arches of ice, strange caverns cut from the stone that suggested the mountain had been shaped— forced into the strange structure it was now eons ago. 

Every so often— when they had to stop, when they had to cut marks into the ice to remember which way they had come, when they had to take a moment to just let themselves shiver and complain— Ignis would wander ahead, Gladios a few steps behind to help scouting. They would come back with useful items salvaged from god knows how many fallen explorers— potions, a handful of elixers— or interesting items Nyx had learnt they could sell in a pinch or Noct could use as a catalyst. And in the dark, they would follow a breeze, or something shining in the flash of Prompto’s camera for a second— their little lights just enough to keep them from slipping to a broken leg. 

When they stopped, when Noct shuddered and tried to rub feeling back into his arms, Nyx would pull him close. Despite the jacket, when the heat worked up from a fight died down, the chill returned— biting, numbing, seeping into them. 

“Dude, how are you not cold?” Prompto demanded, hands extended over the sizzling stones Noct was drawing fire from. “Everyone is cold.”

Nyx shrugged, testing the ridge up ahead, spotting some promising opening on the other side. “Being burned alive will probably do that to you.”

“Let’s just keep going,” Noct was at his elbow, eyeing up the ridge, mouth a thin line as he pushed Nyx’s comment from his line of thought for now. The ridge was narrow, and curved, but their lights reflected off a wall of ice in the cavern beyond— there was a promise of a new room. 

“You can warp this,” Nyx rested a hand on Noct’s back. 

“We don’t know what’s over there,” Ignis adjusted his jacket, pulled the cuffs as far down as he could in his own attempts to warn off the chill. “And it would take a considerably longer time for the rest of us to catch up if there was any trouble.”

Unlike the rest of the cave, the ridge was quiet. The cavern beyond was empty as far as they could see. There was no scrape of claws, no dark shapes moving across the reflection of their light. Just a wide, empty space ahead. 

Nyx held Noct back— far too familiar with that look, the planning. “I got it.”

He also knew that hesitation.

“Right behind you, Ulric,” Gladio stepped up, nudging Noct away from the ledge, closer to Ignis. “Just no heroics.”

“No promises.”

It was a cavern, and despite how Nyx could have called it a mile away, there was something waiting for them— silent, skulking around the edges of the cavern in the dark where their lights couldn’t quite reach until they were closer. Nyx had a dagger out before Gladio could attempt the jump to more solid ground. Even if he couldn’t warp, he could still throw. 

The Mindflayer was stunned while Gladio made his jump, while Noct ignored Ignis and warped ahead. 

A bolt of lightning was flung faster than Nyx could get his footing on the wider ledge— faster than he could shield his eyes from the sudden brightness against the ice. When the sparks died down and the creature was too stunned to do much more than flail in Noct’s direction— just as blind, just as cold— Nyx retrieved his dagger. He gave it a twist as he kicked away from the daemon, ripping at it as he pushed himself to a safe distance. Another strike of lightning and he had to use the ice to slide to a safer distance. 

Imps were called in, and Nyx was thankful that at least one of them was carrying a pistol. 

With Gladio and Prompto handling the reinforcements, Nyx tried to get in a few halting strikes to the flayer’s side— tried to distract it from where Noct and Ignis were defending. Where Ignis was quickly stepping in to shield Noct as he quickly substituted in a new spell. Before the daemon could force its way past Ignis’ guard, Nyx threw his knife again. 

It struck home in the mass of tentacles and tendrils, and Nyx felt a familiar _pull_. 

The sensation was gone as fast as it came when he stumbled back from the things attention and watched Noct catch his own blades midair. As Noct used the momentum of his warp to pin the daemon against the wall cutting at what could be assumed was a throat before it slumped. The dead weight caused Noct to lose his own balance and he fell back onto the stone floor with a groan. “Shit…”

Ignis pulled him up, still the most composed out of all of them. 

“Think we’re close?” Prompto still grinned— struggling to catch his breath, but grinning. “Or do we live down here now?”


	5. Breather (1)

The last time they had been like this— pressed close, hands tracing patterns over each other as they tried to commit every detail to memory, dark hair a mess from hands running through it— it had been the night before Noctis left Insomnia. The night before the first Niffs had come into the city with their treachery and threats, and the King had done only what any good father would have, even if he couldn’t succeed as a king. 

He last time they had been like this, it had been in Nyx’s little apartment, Galahdian music from the shops and restaurants nearby forcing its way into the peaceful little mess. Noct hadn’t wanted to be at his apartment, hadn’t wanted to meet somewhere else— somewhere more befitting a princely tryst. He had shown up on Nyx’s doorstep with a bottle and a chip on his shoulder about the plans to send him off to get married. The door was barely open before Noct was inside and venting his frustration. Before he was laying his claim to Nyx with all that royal demanding presence and swearing off the future. 

To Nyx, that night had become his new promise of _home_. Not the warmth of Galahd, or the open roads and fields of his childhood. Not the little clusters of farms and the masses of Galahdian cities connected by roads carved out by centuries and generations of nomads too wild to just settle down until the daemons became too strong. Not the rich greens to the south where Galahd had touched Lucis, or the frozen wastes to the north where only a handful of people tried to eke out a life. Where he and Libertus would run wild in the streets in the dry months— picking up the odd jobs that kept food on the table— where the promise of rain almost meant the promise of a good harvest later in the year. Where they had grown up in traditions and promise and lost it all in a few weeks of a more collected force. 

Not even the little home built by his mother, shared with his sister, could compare with the _want_ that drew him to Noct. 

Nyx had decided, then and there, that night, that Noct was his home. And it wouldn’t matter if he was married or king, Nyx would be there somehow. Even if they never shared another night, Noct was his home. Was the future he would die for. It only took a few days of chaos to realise it. 

Now, they had managed a room in Lestallum— a moment of privacy together before Prompto came knocking to head out for a late dinner. Before Ignis came back with rumours and research on the Cauthess Disc and why it might be inflicting itself on Noct. Before Gladio came through with the suggestion of a run or a hunt, or something to keep the blood flowing. 

Nyx had plenty of ideas to keep blood flowing. 

They didn’t have the resources to split the budget the way they did. Between what they had allotted for gas for the Regalia, for supplies, for food, for… whatever other emergency Ignis had already planned for, there wasn’t much left over to split the rooms. Certainly not with any semblance of fairness. Not without Noctis feeling like he was being treated too much like royalty— being afforded the privacy of a king. 

“Noct, buddy, you _seriously_ just need time with Nyx,” Prompto told him as he pressed the second room key into Noct’s hand. “Because we really don’t need to be in your pocket for _that_. You can buy me dinner, if you feel bad.” 

Dinner would be late. 

Now, as they were— as Nyx was relaxed back against the headboard, as Noct tracing the patterns the burns had left along his face, his neck— Nyx had no intention of letting his king out of his sight. He had missed Noct’s lips, his clever tongue, the way his hands could ghost over every inch of him and make him _ache_. 

“You were shot?” Nyx could only stare dumbly at Noct’s dark hair under his hand, confused for a moment by the interruption of that trailing warmth. 

“Yeah,” he smirked against the worried look it received. “It’s better now. Nothing to worry about.”

“But you were shot.”

“Yes, and the guy who did it is already dead.” He ran his hands through Noct’s hair— encouraging him to drop the subject. “Moving on, now. Before I start begging.”

Noct’s reply was muffled— muttered against the new scar before he moved on. “I like you begging.”

Nyx didn’t have the time to reply with more than a groan and his grip in Noct’s hair getting tighter. “Fuck…”

There was Galahdian food in the market of Lestallum— a stall selling kebabs and seasoned meats. Another with roasted vegetables that were harder to come by in Lucis, and others that were as close as they were going to get to the real thing from Nyx’s homeland. And other with the thick wraps and stir-fries and soups Nyx was far more familiar with than anyone he was travelling with. It was a little cluster of shops in the corner— wafting spices and smoke, and the promise of something considered exotic to the folks around here. 

Nyx beelined through the market towards it, an arm around Noct’s shoulder the entire way. The familiarity of it all— the smells, the warmth, the promise of something rich and heavy— was more effective than the pull of a warp. 

It was time to celebrate. 

Even if Noct was going to watch the skewers cook with a wary eye— far too many peppers and tomatoes and green things on the line for his liking. Even if Nyx was going to beam and flirt and charm his way into free samples from the merchants trying to sell their wares to him at a mark-up. “Just like home,” one would tell him, while another would say “just like my mother made” before offering a small bowl of bread and sauce to go with his meats. 

It was only after Nyx had them change up the offering— more of one, less of another, drive the whole thing through the flames on the grill before handing the skewer over to Noct— that he even noticed Ignis standing nearby. The man watching every adjustment to the original recipe with the same calculating eye he watched beasts and enemies moved, with the same focus and attention as he watched Noct on a battlefield. “Need a lesson, Iggy?”

“Only on how you managed to include those vegetables in Noct’s portion.”

“What?” Noct stared at the skewer before he shrugged and kept going. “Whatever.”


	6. Braids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super big thanks to [daemon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/daemon) for this one. 
> 
> Just a short snippet.

In the morning, they had decided to check out the disc— or at least what they could of it at the observation deck with the telescopes. It wasn’t the most idea situation, but if they could at least get a lay of the thing from a distance, they could work out the infiltration later. None of them were particularly thrilled with the plan, or even the idea, but the headaches were getting worse. The visions were more persistent. 

None of them liked seeing Noct in pain. 

“You need to sleep,” Nyx muttered against Noct’s hair. The latest vision had scared him, had hurt Noct; while Gladio played off the visible (and sudden) weakness in the hotel lobby, Nyx had pulled Noct up to the rooms. “I promised Specs that you’d be up early.”

“Not your promise to make, hero.”

“It is when he starts getting on my ass instead of yours.” Nyx could tell that the way Noct relaxed against him was a ruse, the way he slowed his breathing was calculated. Nyx knew that the slow, deliberate movements beneath the arm he had across Noct, the fact that Noct had turned away from him— back pressed against his chest— was all planned. Noct may not think so, but he was predictable to Nyx. In bed, Noct was practically a ragdoll against him when he finally slept. When he let himself sleep. “You still have nightmares.”

“Shut up.” Noct sighed, turning that fraction of an inch further away. “Yes.”

There had always been nightmares. Nyx knew them well. Not just about the creature from his childhood, but of the weight of expectation. The promise that one day, to live up to his destiny, someone close to him was going to die and the magic he wielded would slowly start to burn him up the same way. 

Nyx had heard them all, already. He used to be able to chase them away when Noct was in his bed. He suspected there were new daemons in there now— new ways to fear the wide world that they had seemed to be enjoying so far. New images of Niffs moving across city walls, new realisations that Regis wasn’t in there waiting to be rescued. 

He sat up, keeping a hand on Noct’s shoulder to keep him down. It was easier in this angle, to reach the hair that was just a little bit longer by his temple. 

“My sister used to do this for me,” Nyx’s hands worked with hair all the time— his own hair was a different weight, different texture. These little twists weren’t meant to be status symbols or promises or indications of anything important. “Too bad I don’t have the beads.”

“What’re you doing to my hair?”

“What do you think, highness?”

“I thought only Galahdians wore those sorts of things.”

“You’re an honorary member. And this is region-specific, anyway.”

Nyx knew that, had Noct ever walked through the streets on Insomnia with Galahdian braids, there would have been a backlash. Some anger from an already resentful community bubbling up to the surface. Some threat despite the fact that Noct did try to understand the myriad of meanings Nyx had told him about. And these… Well, these little braids— just two simple ones twisted together— were never meant to really be worn all day. 

“This one,” Nyx tugged lightly on the one closer to Noct’s eye; “is the night. The other;” another little tug, on the one further back in the mess of dark hair; “is the day. If there was a bead in there, it’d work better.”

“What do they do?”

“Trap your dreams. Let them loose in the morning.” Nyx smirked, making the final little manipulations needed to hold the braids in place. “My sister used to do this to my hair when I was a kid. Little brat would make fun of me for it in the morning, too.”

He turned Noct over when he was done, admiring the way his lover looked with his hair twisted and worked and secured. “You’re way too pretty to be Lucian, highness.”

Noct’s lazy punch to his shoulder made him laugh, made him kiss the younger man, and resettle with his arms around him. He knew that his daydreams would be filled with Noct wearing his braids for a while anyway. 

“Thanks, hero.”

“Any time, prince.”


	7. Archaean Short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one purely because I'm far too creeped out by Ardyn to write him. I tried. I can't.

Nyx had acted on instinct. The caldera of the Archaean was a chaotic mess. Between the God trying to kill them, and the Niffs trying to kill a fucking god, and Noct zipping around like a distraction trying to protect them, Nyx had to act on instinct. There was nothing else between the heat and the fight and the absolute madness this had all become. And it was hard enough to keep up with Noct when the brat was just running headfirst into a fight, this was actively picking fights. 

With the fucking _Archaean_. 

At least, that’s how Nyx was going to assume it went. Between the way Noct rushed into a battle and away from safety, and the way his ancestors seemed to stash their powers in the most ridiculous of places, Nyx was just going to assume that there was a Lucian royal at the centre of every ounce of chaos in the world right now. 

He had struggled to keep up, taking out the MTs who alternated from targeting the giant swatting at them like flies (swatting at Noct) to targeting them balanced on the last solid piece of burning stone. The Niffs he could handle. Daemons he could handle. All he had now was the struggle to protect a prince who was busy protecting them. 

As soon as it was clear that Ignis was trying to find the right balance for a powerful ice attack that could help them, Noct stepped in as a distraction for Archaean and Niffs alike. When he started to falter in his attacks, Nyx spotted him suspended from the stone walls, trying to catch his breath before the next wave of a giant hand came towards him. He watched helplessly as Noct would tug his weapon free well before he was ready because there was no stopping the force of nature that was coming towards him. 

For a few moments— in the momentum, with each successive strike against a stone hand that could not possibly feel anything from it— Noct would be in free fall until he warped to another point high on the wall to catch his breath. 

Nyx knew a disaster was coming. And Ignis was taking his damn time trying to balance that spell. 

It should have been the other way around. Noct would have had it ready in seconds. He would have fed the elements with his own power and distributed it so much faster from that well of Lucian royal magic. But he was a target. Noct was _the_ target. 

And Nyx was getting frustrated with only being able to help take down the Niffs around them. 

He had to act on instinct. There was nothing else while he struggled to help Noct get his blows in and kept Iggy from being slaughtered. 

Noct was mid-air when the Archaean finally landed a solid hit. 

He heard Prompto yell, and Gladios tried to rush by, but Noct had been moving on the momentum of his warp strikes. He was in free fall when the force of a mountain swatted him aside. 

Nyx worked on instinct. 

“Noct!” There was that _pull_ and he didn’t realise his knife had left his hand. Reality shattered around him and he was holding Noct the next second, struggling to keep them both on the stone walls of the caldera while a giant’s hand rushed to crush them. Reality shattered again, and again, until he was on solid ground, an elixer in his hand. Relief was short lived when he saw those familiar, indignant eyes blinking up at him. “Don’t scare me, brat.”

It was Noct who warped next— blocking and parrying the hand still rushing towards them. 

But now, Nyx felt the faint tremors of power he had trained with. He felt the pulse and the flow— the beat of Lucian magic feeding into his own. It wasn’t the aching, burning, blinding power of the ring. Nor the safe, comforting, confident power of Regis. 

This was wild. 

Nyx knew this fury and this adrenaline— he knew the wild raw edges just forming. 

He warped again, and again, picking off the Niffs and stragglers trying to pin beads on Noct. He caught Noct before the prince could hit stasis and let him take that extra few seconds to recover just that much more. Until the flash of blinding, biting cold erupted from Ignis’ work and a phantom glaive (from the waterfall, Nyx recognised later) appeared in front of him. 

It wasn’t until they had been dropped off in the rain, at the Chocobo ranch, that Nyx was able to process what had happened. 

Mostly. 

The car was gone, there were Niffs everywhere, they were practically in the middle of nowhere after being beaten to a pulp, and it was raining. 

“Noct, when the hell did you get yourself into?”

And now there was a very familiar dog barking for Noct’s attention.


	8. New Plan

In all honesty, Nyx had never thought where Lucian magic came from. There was the crystal that the King protected. There were the Astrals that protected the land and the people. There were the dead kings who… Well, Nyx still didn’t know what the hell they thought they were doing, but he counted them among the powers of Lucis. 

He just never thought of where Noctis’ power might come from. 

This wasn’t like the magic he grew up knowing. It wasn’t folk magic and little tricks to trap the elements. This wasn’t his mother’s dutiful drawing of runes onto stones or leaving part of the day’s meal out for dusty desert cats. This wasn’t Crowe’s fire and lightning that danced at the edge of her hands, wild and explosive, and raw. 

He never knew anyone to go chasing lightning strikes before. 

The Armiger wasn’t something that could surprise him now— seeing those ghostly weapons shatter into crystal light and force their way into Noct— he had seen that magic in action once or twice before. When he was young and a king saved him and his friends. He had seen those phantom weapons in action, and knew that Noct would be a forced to reckon with once he had a handle on that sort of power. Ignis had told him that it was the power of the Lucii passed down— that each king would build their own arsenal. That each king would absorb the will and the power and tethering to the Crystal of the kings before. 

No one mentioned chasing down gods in storms. 

Or fighting gods in volcanoes. 

Or the gods in general. Nyx did not like this plan. Or this tradition. 

There were gods in Galahd, of course. There were gods in every land and every culture, and even the damned Niffs probably had some idiotic god sitting around. The thing was, in Galahd, you left the gods alone. Most of them were harsh, like the lands they maintained; most were fickle, like the magic they created and the creatures they chose to represent them. They weren’t the powers personified— not with the same features and promises and empathies of the humans they watched over. 

It wasn’t like this, these conversations that dragged Noct through hours of agony as he heard voices and wills projected into his head. As he felt drawn to petrified trees still crackling with power. 

“Noct, you need to stop tempting these gods.” 

Nyx may not like what was happening, this strange alliance that Noct was attempting to create, but Nyx was never going to let him just stumble and fall. Even if it was just to his knees as a vision of something Nyx could never see assaulted his prince’s mind. 

Visions and magic, and strange weapons tied to a crystal. And now there was something rising out of a stone tree, crackling with power. It was another cave, tucked away in plain sight. Another reason for them to tear across the wetlands and fields. More daemons. 

He watched as this last little spark— the staggering, cracking, burning powers— from the final Runestone dissipated. He watched as the power vanished; drawn in like the other elements Noct could control. 

Nyx had never seen the prince’s eyes _glow_ like that, before. He had seen the crystal, briefly. And had known Regis’ power. But Noct… 

“You okay, your highness?” He tried to keep it at glib tone, even as Ignis was the first to approach Noct to look him over. To try to get a sense of the power that Nyx could just sense with his own, limited, aptitude. “Still you, Noct?”

He smiled at the indignant look. “Who else would it be?”

“Well, I don’t know how these things work,” Nyx reached up to ruffle Noct’s hair, relieved. This whole thing was definitely out of his depths. “Let’s head out.”

At camp, Nyx found that he was in the same boat as Prompto on this— this helpless element of surprise and confusion. This lack of understanding. This idea that everything they were doing now, everything Luna was doing, and Noctis was trying to do, was so far into the realm of myth and legend that the Crownsguard only knew half of it. They understood the Armiger part of it— every king built an arsenal for themselves. Every king took on the power of the ones that came before. 

Every king had some kind of journey to make along the way. It was where Gladio’s family came in. 

Nyx could understand that. He had seen the Armiger before. He could understand that element to the Crystal’s power. He could even understand Noct’s ability to draw in and shape the magic around him on a whim, once he had the containers he needed to store that power in— and those spells, the ‘elemancy’ as Iggy had called it— were getting stronger. 

But this was beyond them all. This was edging into the area of fairy tales and mythologies. 

Ignis knew the stories better than anyone else at the camp. He knew the prophecies and the legends and the ways that the stories went when the Six joined with a Lucian king. It hadn’t happened in centuries, millenia, but it was happening now that the Crystal was in danger. Was stolen away from the rightful guardians. 

“So we just keep chasing Luna,” Nyx surmised, having pulled Noct to him once they were around the warmth of the fire. Once they had eaten and processed the strangeness of the day. He had pulled Noct close and did not want to let the brat out of his sight. 

Gladio nodded, arms crossed as he thought the plan they had so far through. “Right. At least she seems to know what she’s doing.”

“So we’ll meet her in Altissia.” Noct leaned back, keeping whatever vision he had received to himself for now. But his eyes were back to staying blue (Nyx had checked), and he was calm now that the storm had cleared. Now that the trial was done and they seemed to have a better understanding of where to go and what to do. 

Or at least who could explain things to them.


	9. Picturesque

“I know for a fact that you aren’t even awake yet.”

Nyx liked having the mornings at camp. He liked the chill of dawn and the solid stone beneath him. He liked waking up to Noct curled close, like a personal heater that cuddled. He liked knowing that he could get a few moments to himself if he didn’t linger too long in Noct’s arms. He liked sitting out with the first mug of campfire coffee, wrapped in a jacket, and watching the sun rise while the beasts in the distance started their grazing. Sometimes, Ignis would join him, a sweater pulled over his head and a quiet nod in greeting before he settled with his notebook and a coffee. Gladio would be the next to drag himself from the tent, offering a far-too-cheerful good morning before heading off on a run. 

When they stayed in motels, or caravans, there was always a new barrier, a sense of being too far apart from each other. No one was up early to make coffee or set out the chairs. No one needed to set up the fresh fire or wash up from the night before. Nyx did like the mornings he could have with Noct in a bit more privacy, on a softer bed, but they had the second tent for a reason now.

“Don’t need to be awake to take pictures;” Prompto smiled, making his way to the coffee as he snapped off multiple shots. The barely brightening sky, the steam coming from the coffee, Nyx. 

“How many do you have now, anyway?” Nyx had his kukris out, a whetstone to drag across the blades. They rhythm was soothing, familiar, a reminder of Galahd to him. Of training exercises and trips out to the wilds when he was growing up. 

“Now? About four hundred. Give or take. I don’t save all of them.” Prompto set the camera aside to settle on one of the folding chairs with his mug, breathing in the smell of the coffee and steam before actually taking a sip. “Your coffee, Nyx, is amazing.”

“Don’t tell Specs that. He’ll sulk.”

“Good, then maybe I can get a bad picture of him.”

“Good luck with that mission;” Nyx chuckled, hands still moving the worn whetstone over his blade. The singing of the blade and the crackle of the fire the only noise from the camp this early in the morning. He knew Prompto was still watching him, not through the lens of his camera, not with the same joking, playful look he had throughout the day. “Problem?”

“You know, if you hurt Noct, I’m going to kill you, right?”

“Got it.”

“Good.” Prompto kept watching him and kept sipping from his mug. He still breathed in the steam before every sip, savoured every slow draw from the mug. Like a ritual Nyx hadn’t known the kid was capable of. “Is that the one from Galahd?”

“Yeah,” Nyx looked up from his work, finally setting the blade aside, examining the Crown City forged one for any imperfections after the harrowing past few days. “Had it since I was a kid.”

He could tell that Prompto wanted to ask more questions, wanted to do more than just watch him. Wanted to talk. Nyx realised that they hadn’t actually talked before. Not alone, not without Noct as some kind of buffer. Not without the one mutual interest they seemed to share between them like a bridge. The kid was fidgeting (Nyx didn’t know why Prompto was a _kid_ in his mind. It was the energy, the enthusiasm, the curiosity…), and Nyx just grinned at him, offering him the handle of the crown-forged kukri. “Want to try?”

“Really?”

“Why not?

That beaming grin— that bundle of Prompto energy and sunshine— was worth it. Nyx showed him how to hold the blade, how to hold the whetstone, how to draw it across the edge and make the metal sing with each strong pass to sharpen the edge. It was calming for Nyx— a tradition since he was old enough to hold a knife, since he was old enough to understand the responsibility in maintaining his tools himself. 

Prompto was smiling, even as he struggled to balance the blade without cutting himself. Even as he dropped the whetstone before he got a decent grip. As his first few passes were too light and his hands shook with the sudden responsibility in handling someone else’s weapons. “Do you mind that I get pictures of you?”

“Nah. I can’t make too good a sight with these scars, but I’m good.” He nudged Prompto; “Though in Galahd, taking pictures means your stealing a soul.”

“Really?!”

“No.” The petulant glare was worth it. There were times like this, when it was quiet, when they could forget for a while what had happened, forget the danger they were in, that Nyx missed Libertus and Crowe. He knew they would have loved bugging Prompto as much as they had loved harassing Noct— prince or no. “But you’d love taking pictures of Galahd. It’s a completely different world compared to Duscae.”

“I’d like to see it, sometime. Get a shot of you in your natural habitat.”

Once Prompto got the hang of it, once he had settled into the pattern, the rhythm, Nyx sat back. Finally reaching again for his own forgotten coffee, sipping the cold drink before tossing it for something fresh, something warm against the chilly air. “So why are you up so early?”

“Why’re you?”

“Touche.” Nyx decided that he liked this, this strangeness between him an Prompto. The only two normal guys in this whole mess. The only two not raised to be Noct’s shields. “Fine, why do you take so many pictures?”

That had Prompto smiling, even as he focused on the movement of his hands. “Someone has to, right? Remember all of this stuff, at least. I mean, what’s going to happen when Noct’s king— I mean properly— and he’s bored of all the royal stuff? I can’t let him forget all of this.”

“Ah, purely altruistic.” Nyx settled again, watched as Gladio crawled his way out of the tent and stretch for his morning run. Gladio’s morning pleasantries were always simple— a nod, a quick and cheerful good morning, and off he went. Nyx was used to the routines now, to the way that everyone was comfortable with each other. To the way they all knew exactly how to get their own bit of time to themselves when they could. 

When Prompto turned back to the blade, hands steadying now that he was used to the movement, used to the force, no longer terrified to ruin Nyx’s weapon. And Nyx snapped a picture of the look of focus on the discarded camera, grinning at the look of surprise. “Hey!”

“We need more pictures of you, you know.” Nyx caught the look of surprise— the wide eyes and the blush that hid the freckles. “Can’t just be the rest of us.”

“Says you! You always look perfect in photos.”

“That’s because I am perfect.” He grinned, bringing up the last two shots on the display to show off to Prompto. “You look fine. Noct’s going to love them.”

Ignis was the next to emerge from the shared tent, pausing long enough to adjust his glasses and take in the scene of Prompto trying to figure out if the kukri he was holding was sharp enough. “I hope you still have all your fingers, Prompto.”

Nyx examined the blade, satisfied with the edge. He ruffled Prompto’s hair before sliding it back into its scabbard. “Hey, he does good work. Gladio’s out on his run.”

“Best wake up Noct for breakfast, then,” Ignis had his notebook out, pages turning for a decent morning meal. “He’ll still be anxious to get the Regalia back.”


	10. Ownership

Ignis, Nyx was learning, was a fucking genius. The base where the Regalia was being stashed was definitely a trap. Definitely something on lock up, with far too many guards and machines. It was clearly part of the occupying force, clearly part of the resupply chain and the barricades meant to corral and contain the growing threat of a pissed off Noctis. Meant to contain the threat of a people who knew full well that their ruler was not only alive and well, but engaged with them, _helping_ them. 

And Noctis was definitely still pissed off. He was getting stronger, and he had a reason to wreak havoc on the Niffs strolling around like they belonged in Lucis. Like they _owned_ the place. 

Nyx had handled stealth missions before. He had worked the delicate edge of slipping into things and giving someone a very bad day. He had handled field missions that required no tact and all force, and carefully wormed his way into situations that were the opposite. He could plan them, improvise them, work through a problem like any seasoned Glaive could.

But Ignis… He would have loved to have an Ignis on the team back in the Glaive. The man knew which steps to take, knew when to hold Noctis back in the shadows and when to throw him at the first guard who could raise the alarm. Nyx definitely didn’t miss that proud look when he and Noct had been taking down the wandering guards in their path on his direction, at his strategy and guidance. Didn’t miss the satisfaction when Noct held back, let himself be guided and directed. 

And when they had made their escape. When they had stepped back from Ravus and Ardyn (the two men Nyx wanted to see in a bloody heap for their parts in Insomnia; the two men Nyx had only held back because he didn’t know what kind of reinforcements they could bring down on them) and Noct had calmed down— back in the safety of his father’s car, Nyx couldn’t help laughing. 

“Specs, I could kiss you.”

“Flattering, but you’re not my type.”

“I’m everyone’s type.” Nyx settled for pulling Noct close in the backseat, grinning at the prince nudged him in the ribs. “And you’re way too good at planning infiltration.”

He could see the smirk in the rearview mirror, could hear it in the man’s answer. “I am a strategist, and we have just effectively declared open war.”

No one missed the way Noct smiled at that, the way he preened at the idea, the way he rested easily against Nyx while grinning like a smug cat for Prompto’s camera. “Stop flattering Iggy, hero. It’ll get to his head.”

“Alas, getting you to eat a balanced meal will always humble me, your highness.”

“Good.” Noct was still smiling, even as he stretched across Nyx’s lap to reach the compartment in the door. They would stop soon, look the old girl over for whatever the Niffs might have done to her. Whatever ways they might have defiled her. But for now, let them hear the banter if they had bugged the car. Let them know that Noct, in all his immaturity and teasing, had just levelled a base with his alliance to the Six. 

Nyx rested a hand on Noct’s back as the prince started digging through the compartment, reaching until he found what he was looking for. Once found, Noct relaxed again— hand closed over a small and worn wooden figure. Nyx could hear the clicking of Prompto’s camera, even as he stroked a hand through Noct’s hair and helped him settle back into the middle seat. 

“Carbuncle?”

“Carbuncle.”

“Good. Don’t want to lose him.” Nyx knew that there were only a handful of things Noct would defend with his life— that he would reclaim with all the fury of the Lucis line. And the only things he could let himself be selfish for now. Now that he had them both back in his possession, all was right with the world. 

Prompto grinned from behind his camera. “Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed that the biggest plan we ever seem to come up with involves throwing Noct at someone while he’s holding something sharp.”

“It was what we learnt in basic training,” Gladio offered from the front seat. “Every Crownsguard learns that trick.”

Ignis nodded sagely, slowing as they came to an outpost; “When in doubt, throw an armed royal at the problem.”

Nyx snorted and pressed his lips to Noct’s temple. “No wonder King Regis created the Kingsglaive, you guys are menaces.”


	11. Rivalry

“He’s not going to eat that,” Ignis said, he didn’t need to watch what Nyx was putting in the pot over the fire to know that Noctis was not going to touch it. He had watched Nyx cut the carrots, watched him fiddle around with the ginger Ignis had found in the Lestallum markets. “He barely likes soup.”

“Have a little faith, Specs.” Nyx grinned as he dropped more ginger into the concoction. The vivid, orange concoction. 

They had been settled at Spelcray Haven for the day— Noctis already back at the nearby pier with Prompto and Gladiolus, their chatter carrying up on the sea breeze. Ignis’ hands moved over the fish Noctis had already delivered from his earlier catch, cleaning, filleting with expert hands and sharp knives. “I have faith in my years of cooking for Noctis.”

“You think I never cooked for him?” Nyx smirked at the raised brow that got him. “Oh, come on, Iggy, think he ate out every time he came to my place?”

“Yes.”

“I’m wounded,” he smirked and settled to stir the pot as it boiled; “really, Ignis. That hurt.”

“I’m sure,” Ignis turned his back to Nyx and his soup, hiding a smirk as he set the cast offs from the fish aside for Noctis to pick through for his next round of bait. “He’s not going to eat it.”

“He’s going to eat it.”

Ignis would never admit that he had started to enjoy this little push and pull they had— this rivalry. There was no animosity in it, no real malice, no intent to dig at each other. But Noctis’ tastes were their battleground, and Ignis had a decade of experience behind him. But Ignis had seen things sip into Noct’s diet that he hadn’t noticed before— a variety of spices, vegetables mixed in moroe thoroughly with the meats, different styles of preparations that he had never thought to offer to the prince. 

He had known what Noct liked, had spent years watching him pick his way around his meals and steal samples. He had spent years testing recipes on his prince, his friend, getting a feeling for what he enjoyed, and what he didn’t. 

He cut the fish from fillet to chunks, looking at his collection of spices and sauces. He was trained in Lucian dishes— both gourmet and local— but he had been watching and learning. If Ignis was good at anything, it was observation. And Nyx liked to show off. 

There were a handful of spices he was not familiar with. Spices from the Imperial provinces, creams and jellies from the few Tenebrae recipes that he had the chance to study. But almost none from Galahd. The immigration districts had watered down their recipes, made them mild for Lucian tastes. 

“Ulric, I need you to test this,” he didn’t know what Galahdian food was supposed to taste like, what it was supposed to be. Nyx had only made coffee in the morning, a handful of small lunches, or seasoned his own foods to his own tastes (which Noct would steal from his plate). But Ignis had seen how Nyx directed some of the cooks and merchants in the Lestallum market when he ordered their plates and skewers, he had seen the knowing eye Nyx had for spice and seasonings and marinade. 

And he knew, without looking, that Nyx was smirking at his back. 

“The great chef needs help? I’m honoured, Iggy,” he heard the spoon Nyx had been using scrap along the side of the pot, the metal ringing at the little taps he gave before shifting the whole thing over to simmer instead of boil. “What are you trying to do?”

“There was a skewer in Lestallum Noct liked; bass, but the salmon here should be a bit heavier.”

There was that smirk, and Nyx was already nudging him out of his own workspace. “You want to cook something from Galahd.”

“Yes.”

“You can actually ask for help, Specs.”

“I have.” Ignis refused to rise to the bait, refused be lured into a childish argument just to amuse Nyx. “It will balance out that monstrosity you’re making.”

“Carrots and ginger, Iggy,” Nyx was already dumping spices into a shallow container. Taking a pinch of one and tasting another before he dashed it into the mix. “He’ll eat it.”

“He won’t.”

“He’ll eat your fish too.” 

“Of course he will.” Ignis frowned as he watched the haphazard way Nyx mixed things— by taste and smell and sight. “Don’t you measure?”

“I am.” Nyx didn’t stir the spices together, he didn’t fold them into each other or let them settle together. Instead, he snapped a lid on the container and shook it all together with little more than a couple of shakes. “This’ll be good for the salmon, and most of the dark meats Noct likes.”

Ignis opened the container, looking at the mix— brown and grey, the original ingredients barely recognisable in the mess. The smell was strong, warm, and even without a taste of it, Ignis could tell that it was like nothing he had ever used before. But before he could start testing it on the chunks of salmon, Nyx stole a pinch and dropped it into the soup. 

“Quick dip, then cook it over the fire, not your stove.”

“I know how to make skewers, thank you, Ulric.” Ignis did huff then, wary of the mixture, not certain how much he should use. Salmon was not a mild taste. It was rich, and fresh, and Noct knew it far too well. He could ignore the smirk from Nyx, but he trusted the man enough to know that he wouldn’t ruin something Noctis liked. 

But he settled the skewers over the fire and ignored the grin it earned him.

“What is that?” It was dusk when Noctis came back to the camp with the day’s catch, rod still in hand. 

Prompto carried the tackle box in one hand, his camera in the other. “Why is that soup orange?”

“Because it is,” Nyx pushed a cup of the soup into Noct’s free hand before taking the fish. “Drink it.”

“What is it?” 

“Just drink it, Noct.”

Nyx didn’t miss the small smirk as Ignis started plating the skewers, or the chuckle from Gladio as he settled into a chair and carefully set his book aside. 

But this was a matter of honour now, and Nyx needed this small victory. He licked his lips and saw Noct’s eyes follow the movement; he leaned in close, and smiled to the younger man, touching their hands together on the cup of soup. “Drink the fucking soup, Noct.”

Noct blushed, but sipped the soup as he settled into a chair.


	12. Kisses in the Dark

“What do they mean?” Noct had asked one night, when they had settled a short distance away from the campsite. Not too far into the dark; not close enough to be easily heard, not far enough to be missed if they were needed. They had settled in the shadow of a large stone— some cast off boulder left by whatever force broke up the mountains and ridges around them— in the soft grass beneath a cloudless sky.

If not for the promise of Niflheim warships, supply ships, and troops leaving trails in the sky, it would have been peaceful. It would have been a warm, comforting night— one where Noctis could almost be forgiven for thinking that he’d be going home in the morning. Almost forgiven for thinking that he had snuck out with Nyx, beyond the Wall, beyond the barrier of the Crystal, for a night alone. 

If not for the telltale red shine of and movement of shadows in the distant skies— above Lestallum, above Galdin Quay— Noctis would have thought his life was almost back to normal. 

“Lots of things,” Nyx grinned, shifted in the grass, leaned back against the stone, wrapped is arms around Noct’s waist to hold him steady as he moved them. “Which one caught your eye?”

There was a small lantern next to them. A small light settled into the grass at Galdiolus’ insistence that cast they shadows long into the night— Noct settled easily on Nyx’s lap, facing him, tracing scars burned in by Lucian magic with a careful touch. He stroked his thumb over the mark below the Glaive’s left eye. “This one. The arrow.”

“Nothing special, prince,” Nyx caught his wrist, kissed it. “Just me having too much to drink.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t lie.”

“You lie all the time.”

“I’m offended, your highness,” Nyx still grinned, pressed lips to Noct’s pulse, counted the heartbeats between them. “Warrior’s mark. First kill over a distance.”

“And your hands? The lines;” Noct swatted Nyx’s kisses away, amused by the sentimentality. His hand tangled in the braids that needed to be redone— the cord twisted around one loose enough to catch around his fingers.

Nyx laughed and caught Noct’s hand again, resting it against his chest. “Weapon of choice. It’ll link my knives to me.”

“So, magic.”

“Something like that.”

“And the one on your neck?” Noct leaned in, gripped Nyx’s shirt with the hand held close, his other holding Nyx’s waist as he rocked himself closer. As he trapped their hands between them. He didn’t miss the flinch from Nyx at the first kiss along his neck, where the scars— the burn, raw, barely healing, creeping marks that reminded them both that the Lucian magic could fill their veins with fire— had all but masked the thin line that trailed parallel to Nyx’s jaw. The single line that Noct used to follow with his tongue and lips and hands when they were like this in the city. When they had a moment, and Noct wanted to know everything. 

He didn’t miss the way Nyx’s grin faltered, the way he shifted to keep Noct from seeing too much, from touching too much. 

Noct frowned, “It still hurts.”

“No,” that smile, that kiss, a distraction. “But it can’t be pretty.”

“You think I care about pretty, hero?”

And the warmth of Nyx’s free hand— the one not trapped against their chests— left his waist, settled at the small of his back. The firm, steady pressure to keep him in place while he shifted them both again, stretched closer to the little lantern light, not willing to break contact between them. 

“I think you’ll feel guilty that you weren’t there to stop it from happening.” Nyx kissed Noct, held him steady, refused to relinquish that hold; “And I don’t want you ever thinking that you should have been in Insomnia that night to stop this. I don’t regret a single scar.”

“Damn heroes,” Noct muttered against the kiss. He pressed their foreheads together; “What does it mean?”

“You know what it means.”

“I want to hear it.”

“Demanding brat,” there was never any malice in Nyx’s voice, not for this— never for these questions, these nights, this teasing. Even as he slipped their hands from between them, moved Noct’s hand to his waist and tried not to laugh as Noct simply raised it to his shoulder. He did smirk as he slipped a touch beneath the hem of Noct’s shirt, felt the prince’s muscles react to the softness of his fingers ghosting over belly. “It’ll follow the line of my braid.”

“Which braid?” Noct leaned into it, into every ghosted touch and teasing promise of more. He rested his forehead on his hand, kissing and nipping at Nyx’s jaw. 

“Your braid, love,” Nyx smiled, rested back, let Noct smile against him, felt the way his belly moved he chuckled. Felt the way his breathing hitched. “The one for you.”

“You’re sentimental, hero.”

“Only for my prince, your highness.”

Noct huffed a short laugh, nipped at a sensitive spot along Nyx’s jaw. “King, now.”

“Oh yes, forgive me, your majesty.” Nyx smirked, saw the light shining in Noct’s eyes— the pain of his sudden ascension chased away by the calming touches, by the days since the shock of it, by the rage at the way it happened. And now Nyx chased the pain of it away with kisses and smiles and at the tip of his fingers trailing heat along Noct’s stomach. “I misspoke.”

“I suppose I can forgive you this time,” it was bitten off by a groan, followed by Nyx’s hum as he set to marking that too-pallid skin that practically glowed in the night. Like the Crystal. Like a ghost in his arms. 

“Never die, Noct. I’m making you promise me that.”

“I promise.” Noct squirmed against him; “Just keep doing that.”


	13. Heartline

They had talked about it for what amounted to hours before actually acting. They had spent nights curled around each other at camp— days in the Regalia, while Gladio rolled his eyes and ignored their pointed grins— just out of immediate earshot with their own little fire and warmth, tracing the phantom lines and planning the styles. Nyx had explained how it should work, what would complement his marks, what would match, what would make them stand out as a pair. Noct had laughed as Nyx traced the spaces on his skin with fingers and lips and tongue and teeth, growling promises between them until someone threw a blanket at them and reminded them of the public view. 

“Are you sure about this, _Myshka_?” 

They had spent days working out the budget for it. Days in Lestallum where Nyx tracked down the right artist from the refugees from Galahd, from Insomnia. Days where Nyx charmed and swaggered and teased the right artist into the work for what little they could spare from the funds collected through hunts and errands and the “quests” as Prompto liked to call them. 

It was Prompto who didn’t approve. Who worried that the marks would make Noct more visible. 

Gladio had no reason to argue— only volunteering to sit with Noct the same way Noct had once sat with him. 

Ignis had his reservations, as he did with everything, but understood the importance to those involved. Just like he understood the braids and the favoured trickets and Nyx’s habit of decorating things he deemed were “his”. 

It was Prompto who worried, who wondered if it was a good idea, who held his camera closer and fretted with the strap until Noct took him off to a little table and bought some street food and explained exactly what was going to happen.

It was still Prompto who was uncomfortable with the idea of lines and marks and ownership on his best friend. 

“Are you _sure_?”

Nyx sat with him in the tiny shop— little more than a hole in a wall that could barely be picked out from the multitude of narrow alleys that made up Lestallum— balanced on a stool as the artist turned Noct’s head. One hand threaded into Noct’s hair, tugged lightly on the little braids woven there, played with the little beads meant to calm bad dreams. The other kept a loose grip on Noct’s hand, ready for where the prince would clench his teeth against the buzz and pain and need that grip for himself. He smiled and kept talking, muttering soft things to Noct to take his mind away from the buzz and the pain and ink being injected beneath skin. 

“You’ve been through worse, little prince, you know you have.”

“Shut up.”

“No,” And Nyx smiled, and talked about when he got his mark back in Insomnia, how he had decided on it just after they had been together for a month. He had known that soon. He had decided with that certainty. 

They both ignored Gladio’s snort of amusement at the story, and the Galahdian artist’s little smile as she focused on the work. Noct glared at his Shield as Gladio grinned and told they that they were disgustingly romantic. Noct smiled as the artist straightened after a small, planned flourish was added, and she looked over Gladio with a critical eye before declaring that she had time for touch-ups on his bird. 

Nyx was grinning as he cleaned the thin dark line and handled the care of it once the artist deemed it finished. He was grinning as Noct winced and whined and tried to get a look at it in the mirror. 

The artist didn’t take a picture of it to add to her portfolio. She declared; “heartlines are too precious to just be stuck up where any customer could see them.”

Noct was smiling as Gladio waved them off and started talking to the artist about her work, about the sword she had above her shop’s door, about the recipes for inks she had framed on old parchments over her counter. 

“Are you sure, Noct?” Nyx asked once they were back in their rooms at the hotel, once Prompto had taken a few new shots and proclaimed the fresh mark ‘cool’ enough to be in his pictures. Once Ignis had examined it and showed his approval by way of a potion pressed into Noct’s hand to help with the redness and healing. 

“You need to stop asking that,” Noct answered once they were alone in their room and Nyx was kissing him. 

It was days, weeks, later that they noticed that Noct traced the thin black line along his throat— the perfect match to Nyx’s own mark now obscured by scars burned by Lucian magic— when he was thinking. When he was leaning against Nyx in the backseat, when they were settled around a fire after a long day and had a moment of peace. They noticed that nearly every time Noct touched the mark, Nyx would catch his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles, his palm, his wrist with a smile.


	14. Morning Run

The only real variation to the morning routines came from Prompto and Noctis. Most mornings— in the safety of a city or outpost town, Prompto would be up early for a jog through the streets or along the road. Those mornings, with the promise of people and safety and the familiarity of life, he would drag Noct out of bed to go with him. The mornings where they had a camp, where they were tucked away in the safety of a charmed plateau of stone and left listening to growls and grumbles of daemons for most of the night, Nyx would watch as he sipped his morning coffee while Prompto stumbled from one tent to the other. He would go in later to wake both Noct and Prompto up and try not to laugh at how they had managed to curl around each other when Prompto fell back asleep with his best friend by his side. There were rare mornings at camp where Gladio would cajole and tease and dare Noctis to join him in the morning, where Prompto would laugh and go along, and Nyx could see them racing each other along the road.

But, for the most part, the mornings didn’t change when they camped. Nyx was still up to watch the dawn with Ignis, Gladio still stretched and went for a morning run regardless of the beasts they could see prowling the forest lines or crossing the fields. They would still let Noct sleep until they heard the telltale noises of a shared phone game, or the soft chatter and teasing between friends, until Prompto would peek out and assess if the food was ready. 

“You can come along if you want, hero,” Gladio said one morning as Nyx traded coffee for his kukri in another morning routine. “His highness will probably still be sleeping by the time we get back.”

Nyx refused the first time, with a smile and a quip and a mention that it was his turn to think up breakfast.

There were still days when he didn’t know what to make of Gladio. In Insomnia, Gladio had been fun to tease, to spar with, to test. Back home, in the safety of the city where the worst attacks Noct faced was a drunk with a dislike for the rich, Nyx had seen Gladio as a posturing child. A well-trained once, but unbled in an actual battle— a Shield that had never had to take the blunt force of a real threat. 

Now he had seen the Shield in action— he had been there as Noct was pushed away from danger (not that it ever seemed to help) by three sets of hands, and Gladio was the first to step into positions. He was there when Gladio would simultaneously protect and use Noctis by staying close in a battle— letting the young king use his bulk to launch an attack and then step in front of their target before there could be any retaliation. He had felt Gladio looking him over, sizing him up, smirking as he decided Noct was in good hands and he was free to finish a fight without keeping an eye on his charge. 

There were days when Nyx would watch Gladio prepare for a morning run, and realise that the man would have made an excellent Kingsglaive if things had been different. 

“What’s the route?” Nyx asked one morning as he strapped one sheath on and checked his blade. 

Gladio didn’t ask if he was coming on the run, didn’t ask what had changed, didn’t ask why that morning. “Up to the car, maybe the bridge.”

The shadow of the Nif base they had assaulted was still looming in the distance, far less active now that Noct was around and indignant about someone setting up controls on his lands. Now that they knew what to target and where and when, and knew that the easiest way to fight this war was to just not get caught. The bridge they had crossed from Lestallum stretching across a hidden waterway in the opposite direction. 

Nyx followed Gladio’s lead across the grass. 

As far as he knew, it hadn’t rained in the night, but the grass was still slick with dew. He adjusted his stride on instinct and watched as Gladio did the same a few paces ahead. 

“You know Noct can manage your weapons, right?” Gladio asked as they moved, as they cleared the boulders and stone and scrub that had been hiding Ronin and Imps the night before. As they cleared the fallen daemons in the shade of the stone that had yet to burn away in the light. 

“I know.”

“But?”

“I can manage them too,” Nyx offered a smirk as they moved into the open grasslands, as they kept the straight line towards the road into the Nif eyesore, aiming for the pavement that would bring them closer to where they parked the Regalia. “Not like my little blades are your giant swords. I don’t need to compensate.”

He expected the eyeroll, the snort, the little smirk that Gladio usually offered to avoid rising to any bait. He laughed when Gladio returned his grin and said; “Do you really want me to confirm that with Noct, hero?”

They took a break at the Regalia, Gladio looking it over for any damage done in the night. For any indication that there might have been trouble while they left it out of their own view so close to a base the Nifs could decide to revisit at any time. Nyx leaned against the hood as Gladio did his checks, watching the haven in the distance for any sign that anyone other than Iggy was awake and moving. 

“You know,” Nyx started as Gladio brushed the gravel from the road’s should off his pants; “this is usually the part of the bonding moment where you threaten my life if I hurt Noct.”

“Why would I do that? Noct can handle himself most of the time.”

“Seems to be the popular thing to do.”

“I might beat some sense into Noct if he hurts you; but you’re not stupid enough to hurt him,” at Nyx’s arched brow, Gladio smiled and patted his shoulder. “You’re good for that brat.”

Nyx smirked, “Is that how you talk about our king?”

“Damn right. Someone’s gotta keep that ego down. You ready?”

“I was waiting on you.”

“Thought you needed a breather, hero.”

“You’re on, Shield.”

“No warping. Last back on cleanup?”

“For a week.”

“Two.”


	15. Practice

“Arm a little straighter,” Nyx stood behind Noct, one hand holding the prince’s left arm in place while he rested his chin on Noct’s shoulder to check the angle of his right arm. He stepped back a few steps with a smile, admiring the stance. Admiring Noct. “Perfect. Now slowly.”

Noct stepped forward as Nyx watched him, as he moved in a wide circle around the prince to watch as he practised the familiar steps. To smile as Noct moved like he was born to wield the two blades Nyx had always favoured. “Faster.”

“You do know I know how to use these, hero?”

“Yes, but you’re out of practice, little prince. Faster.”

They had an audience for this; there was always an audience. Nyx had resigned himself to the loss of any real privacy ages ago— well before ever stumbling out of Insomnia. The loss of privacy came with Noctis— if it wasn’t the bustle of the Citadel, then it was one of his retinue always a step behind, always offering some new plan or idea or insistence. There was always a second set of eyes. No matter what they did, there was always going to be someone watching.

And Noct training with something new practically demanded the entire gallery of eyes picking apart the technique and form. Three sets of eyes and a camera. 

“Looking good, Noct!” Prompto was the only one not settled into the shade of the haven or the trees. He moved in a wider circle than Nyx, watching Noct for different reasons, different styles, different lighting and movement and form. He was waiting to catch the familiar look of concentration, or the little smile under the attention. 

They had settled at a haven in Duscae, just within sight of the Slough and the beasts that watered there. There was open field and a soothing breeze, and the line of trees to cast shade across the grass warming in the sunlight. There was the promise of rain later that might drive them to an outpost or to Lestallum while they waited for news from Cid and Cindy about the little plan being cobbled together in Cape Caem. 

But for now, they had whole stretches of endless day and road and they could take the time to enjoy their little adventure. 

“Keep taking pictures of me, Prompto,” Nyx could only grin as he saw the camera pointed at him just as often as Noct. He could only smile and turn away on habit as Prompto tried to document everything about his friends; “and you’re going to make our little king sulk.”

“Shut up,” Noct muttered as he twisted, stepping out of the routine to catch up to Nyx. “Why are we even doing this?”

Nyx caught Noct’s arms, smiled in response to the little glare as his hands moved from arms to waist to hips. “Because I like watching you dance.”

He could practically hear the shutter of the camera catching the blush that earned him, could hear the muttered teasing from Ignis and Gladio from where they rested beneath the outcrop of the haven. He could hear the chuckle from Prompto and knew that it would stew in Noct’s mind if he didn’t offer a distraction. 

So he kissed Noct instead, and took back the Galahd-forged kukri. He stepped to a better distance away from Noct and grinned. “Let’s give them a show, myshka. See if you’re still any good in a match.”

“What do I get when I win?” Noct answered by stepping into position, by offering his own smirk as Gladio tucked his book away and Ignis finally took his eyes off his lists and recipes and plans. 

“A kiss.”

“I get those for free.”

“You only think they’re free,” Nyx didn’t have any sort of starting stance— not like he had shown Noct ages ago when the young man was just learning the basics of these weapons foreign to Lucis. The next time he has a moment alone to search the markets of Lestallum and the weapons dealers among the hunters, he’d look for a set of blades for Noct. He wanted to see Noct use the kukri in more than just practice and sparring; he wanted to see those blades in Noct’s hands when his little prince— his king— was in the fury of battle. “What do I get when I win?”

“You really think you’ll win, hero?”

“I always win, little prince.”


	16. Cape Caem

There were times when the little ramshackle, previously abandoned house in Cape Caem could feel like a home. It was not just the tireless, protective efforts of the Crownsguard who had taken up residence there. Nor the efforts of those who had joined the ranks of Cor’s allied hunters and who came with reports of Royal Arms and Nifs alike. It wasn’t the easy peace that settled on the ocean breeze or the sound of the waves, or the familiarity of the people. It wasn’t the strange sense of isolation to be had on the tiny outcrop of the cliffs, with nothing but road and forest and ocean to isolate itself. 

Something about Caem simply felt like home. 

Not like the chaos and bustle of Insomnia once did. Not like the bright lights and shimmer of the Wall arched above the hectic press and crush and flow of people once swept Nyx away with the current of a life he had never planned for. Not even the sense of peace in Insomnia that came with the little havens carved out against the very nature of the city itself. Stepping into Caem and the little house wasn’t like stepping back into his apartment after a long absence. It wasn’t strolling through the familiar district that had taken him in and had formed around him like a shield against the harsher, unacknowledged truths of the Lucian city. 

It wasn’t even like the familiarity and belonging he once got from the dinners and drinks and nights out with his little family as they reforged their bonds without the splash of blood and mud to wash off later. 

The peace of stepping into Caem wasn’t even like the solace he once coveted when he held Noct after those same long absences. When he hid from the nightmares that his life had become in that apartment so far above the rest of the world. When he watched Noct get excited about some new cause or project or game; or when his lover and prince settled into his lap on a too-soft sofa and drew him into sweet kisses that tasted of the dinner they had just shared. 

Nyx could only compare the peace of Caem— a peace cut and torn and ripped from the armoured MT soldiers and an Empire bent on killing and capture— to what he remembered of Galahd. 

The trees were smaller, the birds more scattered, the ocean closer here than in his hometown. But the green and the sweetness of the air, and the family that had gathered in one way or another, reminded him of stepping through his mother’s front door. Every time they stumbled from the Regalia a little more battered and worn and broken than before, the sudden barrier against the rest of a hostile world washed over them and everyone breathed a little bit deeper, better, than they had in days. 

There was just something about the place that sheltered them against whatever it was that felt like it was hunting them— hunting Noctis. There was a peace to the place where Nyx had found himself almost hoping they could stay a little longer than they were able. 

There was an innocence to the place, to the ocean air and the calm chatter that flowed on it. There was an innocence to the way Iris would drag Gladio off to the gardens with Talcolt, while Dustin and Cor tried to fix up the worst of the damage to the neglected house. As Prompto helped, recruited by Cor to carry and climb and put things together for them, even as he tried to snap photos of the elusive marshal who had stopped by for just a few days. As Ignis claimed the narrow kitchen and updated the pantry, planning weeks and months of meals with Monica as they alternated between the security details of the little haven they were rebuilding and the practicalities of keeping friends and allies alive and fed. 

Caem was a calm place for them, better than the havens and motels and the hotels now decorated with Nif banners. 

Nyx hadn’t seen Noct so relaxed since before he left Insomnia. 

Settled beneath a tree, Noct dozed. No one would disturb him here, until there was something that needed to be done. Until there was something pressing or necessary, or there was an errand to run. 

Nyx could watch him like this for hours. The prince half asleep in the shade, hand moving over the cat cuddled against his thigh, protected from the worst of the sun by the thick leaves above him, and cooled from the heat of the day by the winds fed in by the ocean and cliffs. 

“I can feel you staring at me.”

“Can’t help if you’re pretty to look at.”

“Is that your best line?”

“It is today.”

He smiled at the soft snort that earned him, at the way Noct’s hand stilled on the cat and as bright blue eyes followed his movements. “You’re terrible at this seduction thing.”

The grass was cool beneath him as he sat, facing Noct, within the easy reach he preferred. Nyx smiled as he reached for his lover, his prince, and traced the dark line marring royal skin before he settled to stroke Noct’s cheek. It was so easy to just settle in to admire Noctis, to remind himself of how lucky he was— how lucky he had been so far. “Good thing you’re easy then.”

“You’re getting worse at it, now.”

“Well, I’m in direct competition for your attention with a cat, I know this is a losing battle.”

“You might still win.”

“Yeah?” Nyx let his hand fall to take Noct’s, watched as Noct sat up a bit straighter and smirked as the cat blinked at them both before getting up to move to a more predictable bed. “How?”

“Kiss me.”

“That an order, your highness?”

“Definitely.”

Nyx wanted to stay like this. He wanted to stay in the shade of the tree and the warmth of the light, and with Noct facing him with that little smirk and sense of anticipation. He wanted to keep this moment, for the next time they were bloodied and battered and exhausted, and dragging themselves to a haven out in the wilds after a battle against a much bigger, better supplied enemy. He wanted this moment for the next time he saw that terrifying and unruly power of Lucian kings and gods flash through Noct’s hands and bleed into his eyes. He wanted it for the next time he doubted the tenderness Noct touched his scars and wounds and to remind himself that, sometimes, the world was meant for them alone. 

“Never knew such a demanding king before,” Nyx smiled as he moved, as he kissed Noct, as he tried to draw out this moment for just that much longer. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.” 

“You always say that.”

“It’s worth repeating.”

“Idiot.”

“Love you too, little star.”


	17. Haven

It had happened more than once— the long crawl back to safety, following the trail of smoke in the near distance. They had dragged themselves out from caves and caverns and ancient structures, bleeding and limping and huffing out weak laughs and jokes about still being alive after the monsters they had encountered in the depths. They had limped out of tombs and forests, too battered and exhausted to do much more than collapse in the grass and under the daylight, and struggled to their feet to make the trip back to the safety of the nearest haven and its glowing runes. It had happened more than once that the long telltale rise of campfire smoke had driven them forward when they should have just taken a few moments to catch their breath. 

It was at a campsite like this— limping, laughing, staunching the flow of blood from fresh wounds with firm presses of clothes that would never be clean again— that they had learnt they were being tailed. More or less. 

There were hunters at the havens, some days. Former Crownsguard working with Dave, working with Cor, who would welcome them in and offer whatever supplies they could spare. 

“You look like you took on a behemoth yourself,” one of the hunters said as Nyx dropped Noct next to the fire. As Gladio dug through the last of their own supplies now that they had the promise of safety and a meal. As Ignis insisted on preparing the meal for them all, and depleting already meagre supplies. As Prompto gladly accepted the potions and medicines and revelled in the welcome reminder that people other than their little group actually existed in the world. 

“A bandersnatch,” Noct smiled as he accepted the offer of potion and medicine, and passed it on to his friends first; “two.”

“Cleared out the hunt, did you?” 

“Just barely,” Nyx knew the hunters from Insomnia— survivors, refugees like them. He knew the penchant for black uniforms and didn’t doubt the prowess with the weapons laid out for cleaning. He knew that the Crownsguard had just found new ways to serve the king and country they had always been sworn to. “There’s another up by the farms.”

“On our way there,” one of the hunters said; “You might want to check in with Dave later, your majesty. Told us to keep an eye out for you.”

“We’ll be sure to,” Noct stretched once the shimmer of curative magic had dissipated— once all that was left to suggest the rough battle behind them was a dull ache and the ruined clothes. 

None of the hunters seemed to think twice at the way they had dragged themselves across the fields, or questioned why no one was in a panic over the king bleeding and in pain (”it was his own damn fault,” Gladio would explain if someone got anxious). No one questioned when Noctis opted to play host despite not having reached the haven first, despite imposing on the hunters made up of the still-loyal Crownsguard, and had Iggy serve others their meals first. There were no questions until Noct was already asleep against Nyx’s side, an arm around narrow shoulders to keep him balanced. There were no questions until Nyx let his hands move over Noct’s, and linger as he slipped the empty plate away before it could drop. 

“So, this is…” one of the hunters started with a vague gesture at them. Both Ignis and Gladio straighted where they sat, the first indication of any protective nature between the usual banter and rough inspections for more serious injuries. Prompto shifted where he rested, parts of his gun laid out for cleaning. It had been easy to exist as just their little family, to be exposed only to those who knew them best, knew what to expect from them, for so long without interference.

Nyx could only offer a smirk to challenge what was going to be said next. “It is.”

“The Marshal doesn’t really tell us much other than to keep an eye out for you,” the hunter who spoke first got up to gather the empty plates; “We don’t really ask questions.”

“And are you asking questions now?” Ignis’ tone wasn’t the clipped, cold one Nyx had come to know when the man was annoyed. It wasn’t a challenge, but there was a threat now that traditional ranks had fallen with the army. Now that their priorities had shifted so long ago from propriety to survival. Now that there was a question to Noct’s happiness from an outsider.

“Think we have a right to know a bit about our king,” another hunter supplied— hands raising to pacify as Gladio’s attention turned to him. Expression open as he glanced between the king’s closest companions “We don’t mean anything—”

“Then stop talking about it,” Noct huffed, rubbing his eyes, not moving from where he was pressed against Nyx. “It’s not changing, and it’s nothing that concerns you. We’ll be off at first light.”

“Your majesty—”

“We’re in a war,” Noct resettled, hand closing around Nyx’s despite the steel in his voice; “I’m sure you have bigger things to worry about.”

The collective affirmatives was enough to quiet the camp back down, but Nyx couldn’t keep the smile from his face as Noct shifted to kiss his neck before going back to dozing. He couldn’t keep his arm from slipping around Noct’s waist, and muttering a soft “troublemaker” against dark hair.

As promised, they were gone at first light. The hunters checking in with their command posts to pass on the king’s status and location, Noct handing over the whistle to call their resilient chocobos to Ignis before they left the haven. There was a car to find, parked along the empty roads, and a bounty to collect before they headed back to Caem to check on their progress with the boat.


	18. Last Night

“I’m coming with you.”

It was muttered softly against lips, against the column of Noct’s throat, against the warmth of Noct’s chest and palms and wrists. Against every part of Noctis that Nyx could reach before it was too late to change the prince’s mind. He knew when he was fighting a losing battle, but Nyx had never let that stop him before. He was an expert at losing battles now. 

Outside of the little tent they had claimed for themselves, the ocean lapped at the stony shore just feet below the haven. The cliffs of Cape Caem raised high above them nearby, the lighthouse standing sentinel for their little getaway. He could hear the others moving around the campsite as they prepared for the day— pretending they didn’t know that Nyx and Noct were awake and moving. He could sense the peace of the moment— the promise of the wider world out there waiting for Noctis to go and find it; the city that they had been chasing, the reunion Noct had been practically begging the universe for, finally within reach. 

He didn’t know why the dread had settled low in his stomach at the prospect of the boat finally being ready— at the next step in their journey being settled and prepared. 

“You’re not. I need you here.”

They had been arguing it for days since they had delivered the last of the supplies to Cid and Cindy. They had been arguing over the details of the trip to Altissia as soon as it was confirmed that the boat would be ready soon— fighting over supplies they might need (”It’s a city, Iggy, there’ll be food there.”) and weapons to carry with them. Cid and Cor told them about Weskham, who had stayed behind in the foreign city years ago, leaving only twice at Regis’ invitation— to attend a birth of a royal son and then a funeral for a queen. They had found a map and started making their plans as the news filtered in over the radio about the gatherings in Altissia for the Oracle, and the reports of the Nifs moving into the city were handed over by Cor’s hunters. 

“You need me with you, little king,” Nyx said, drawing his hands along Noct’s body— tracing scars and marks and familiar muscles. He wanted to memorise every detail before he let himself obey this last order. He wanted to kiss every scar and commit every breath to memory, to ward off the dread that had been building in his gut with the reassurance that Noctis was here and whole and happy. Or as happy as he could be right now. “I need to be with you.”

Beneath him— still mussed from sleep, still dishevelled from their intimacy, still warm and soft and all smiles and roaming hands— Noct sighed. “I want you here. I need you to look after Iris and Talcott.”

“Iris can look after herself, you know.”

“You can watch her back.”

“This place is swarming with Crownsguard.”

It was the little moment of hesitation that did it, that snapped him into place like the last piece Noct had to play in the war they were fighting and Nyx knew that he wasn’t getting on that boat. He knew, in the little breath before Noct spoke again— justified his decision again— that there was no way he could disobey the order to stay behind and let the worry of ‘what if’ eat away at Noct’s mind. He knew, as his king raised a gentle hand to play with the loose braids that needed to be redone, that his place was with the civilians and the other soldiers— that he was there to protect those who couldn’t. Noct had his most trusted friends to watch his back. He trusted Nyx more than anyone to watch after his home while he was away.

“So was the Citadel.” 

Nyx knew that he was going to stay at the little house secluded out here on the cliffs of Caem. He knew that he was going to stand on the dock with the people Noct trusted him to protect and wave his king off on the next adventure. He knew that each and every desperate kiss they had shared before that would linger with him. That every touch between now and the moment Noct left Lucis would be purned against his skin just like the magic of the Lucii. That those who had stayed behind to wait and hope would be listening to every development through every source they had access to, and that he would end up understanding just how helpless Cor felt to protect those he cared most about. 

And when the news broke, days after seeing Noct off— days after pressing his own beloved kukris into Noct’s hands (”at least this, okay? Promise you’ll bring them back to me, little star”) and trying to ignore the sense of dread that hung over them both— Nyx felt his blood run cold. It wouldn’t come through the papers, or even the reports that came in like the tide. It would be pushed forward in the hurried, empathic tones of a radio presenter on the verge of offering condolences. 

Altissia had fallen. 

Just like Insomnia. But to a god rather than the Empire. The voices on the radio— filtered through the spin of the Niflheim media— reported that the city had fallen in a maelstrom brought to life by the Oracle as she betrayed the people she had promised to protect and by the foreign king antagonising the Leviathan as the Empire valiantly beat back the threat. The spin pressed forth that the peacekeeping MTs had tried to organise the chaotic evacuations, that the chancellors of the city had pushed back against the warnings and the concerns presented to them by the advisers of the Empire, and sided with the erratic King of Lucis. The reports Cor’s men and women were able to deliver assured them that Noctis was safe— that there were devastating injuries in the storm, that there was some betrayal along the way that saw the Empire fighting the evacuation orders of the city. But Noctis was safe, and the Oracle was dead. 

And now the days were getting shorter. 

Nyx didn’t remember when he realised it, when it was confirmed. He didn’t remember anything beyond meeting the hunters coming to the Cape in fewer and fewer numbers to get the updates on where Noctis was, if they could find him. He didn’t realise that the daemons were getting closer or the hunters had started working with Cor to move civilians who would listen to strongholds like Lestallum and Hammerhead. He didn’t even think twice about the moves and evacuations and the shorter days, when he overheard the news that Noct was on a train and chasing the Crystal into enemy territory. When the news that Noct wasn’t coming back first overshadowed everything else. When the boat came back with only Cid and bad news— with the knowledge that the mechanic had fled the chaos with as many as he could save before the storm really kicked off. 

He had joined the hunters most nights, and took to sleeping during the daylight hours. What few of them were left. He had stopped thinking somewhere between receiving the news that the King was on his way to enemy territory and getting the order from Cor to bundle up Iris and Talcott for the last trip to Lestallum, when the sun barely skirted the edge of the horizon now— the woods and hills that had protected the little hideaway now threatening to spread the creeping shadows. 

Everyone had been on edge that day, as the sun barely rose, barely set, and they could hear the creatures already clawing at the rocks and trees from the shadows. The day that they lost track of Noctis in the news, as the last train into the supposed protections of the Niflheim Empire was attacked through Tenebrae, and the news filtered through to them from radios that soon went silent until the hunters broadcast their call for survivors. 

Nyx remembered that day, and watching the last gold rays of the fading sun dip into the ocean as his hands closed around the little worn, well-loved figure of Carbuncle he had kept with him. The figuring was Noct’s promise to come home— his promise to come back just as much as the kukris were Nyx’s promise that he’d be waiting. 

Before the figure was tucked away, and he retreated to the safety of the well-lit roads where his charges were waiting for him, Nyx pressed a quick kiss to the reminder that his lover was still out there somewhere. Hopefully with his friends at his back. 

“Look after him, little guy,” Nyx whispered to the little figure in his hands; and hoped that somewhere an Astral from his childhood bedtime stories still loved Noctis. “He needs you.”


	19. Dawn

He wasn’t there when it happened. It was one of his regrets— one of the many he stopped thinking about, stopped counting. He wasn’t in Lucis when the sun rose again. He wasn’t in Hammerhead when Talcott brought the King through, when the first rays of the first dawn in ten years pierced through the familiar dusts of Leide, or over the empty wetlands of Duscae. He wasn’t in the twisted, broken city that had left him burned and scarred and just as shattered, when the sun broke through the clouds that had darkened it for far longer than the ten years of night. He hadn’t seen the light reflect off the rubble, or the shadows dissipate with the Scourge that had clawed it’s way through Eos like ink poisoning a vein. 

Nyx hadn’t even realised the night had broken until he was blinded one day by the foreign natural light breaking into his peace. 

He had never thought a dawn could feel so violent.

The light in Galahd returned all at once, spreading over every leaf and stone and cliff. He heard Libertus’ excitement before he saw it— heard the cheering from those guarding the streets and maintaining the lights of the little town. He heard the silence before the celebrations and the awe in the first dawn in a decade, before people rushed from the safety of their homes and fortresses to bathe in the lights. 

He wasn’t in Lucis when it happened. He didn’t even know that Noct had come back until after the fact. Until Prompto called him on the second day of the light returning. 

He had spent eight years in Lucis with them; hunting with them, waiting with them. He was in Lestallum (as ordered) when Aranea brought them in from Gralea and listened to their story until there was nothing else to tell. 

Noctis had disappeared into the Crystal, and the Crystal went missing shortly after. They had tried to stay with it, to stand guard, to figure out how to bring it home to Lucis. Noctis had disappeared into the cursed thing and then it vanished shortly after. They had tried to find out as much as they could while in Niflheim— tried to dig through the old notes and pages of filed orders and research until something of the mess could make sense— until Aranea arrived to bring them home. 

Over the years, Ignis went back several times to search for answers, for solutions. He came back— Aranea at his side and complaining about being the one to really do all the work— with Niflheim’s reports on Solheim. With books and collections of the stories of magic and the destruction of Crystals. Over they years of darkness, the hunters indulged him and collected as many books and rumours and spells as meals as he could make for them. Nyx had stayed close during those first few years, helping Iris train— helping both of them turn their own rage outward towards the endless night, despite misgivings from Gladiolus. 

He travelled with them for as long as he could stand it. Until the draw of Dave’s hunters and promise of a home waiting for him was too strong to resist. Until he got the word from the hunters travelling to and from Galahd that the little island nation still stood. That Libertus had made it home. 

It was eight years in Lucis before he went home. 

It had felt like he was giving up.

Despite the reassurances from Prompto and Ignis, the concern from Gladiolus, and the pleading from Iris not to leave, going home to Galahd had felt like he was giving up on Noctis. 

He counted it among his regrets. Just like not being there for the King’s return. Or for the first light. 

Prompto had called on the second day to tell him what had happened. How Noct had saved them all. How the Last King of Lucis had done his ordained duty. 

_You should have seen him, Nyx, he was amazing._

Nyx knew that he shouldn’t ask Prompto to put Noct on the phone. Knew that he shouldn’t ask for the details. That there was no point in knowing the whole story now. 

He knew that Noct was gone the second the first ray of sunlight broke into his life again.

For a year, he didn’t let Dave into the bar. He didn’t want to hear about Lucis or hunters or the King of Light. He didn’t want to hear about how there were heroes in the Decade of Darkness, and which of them had made it to the dawn. He didn’t want to hear about funerals and festivals and celebrations, when all he could think about was Prompto’s voice in his ear saying “ _he was amazing._ ”

For a year he ignored the news of life returning to Lucis. He could see it coming back to Galahd. He could see the greens and the brightness of flowers he had almost forgotten once existed before. He could see the way the people came and went and they all seemed to stop at the bar he and Libertus had up and running again. He ignored the invitation to a king’s funeral, and to the salvaging efforts as the outposts settled on the edge and in the ruins of the old city grew. 

For a year, he tried to ignore the dreams of a lifeless king he had loved slumped on a throne. And the look of vacant blue eyes that were once as bright and blue as a stormy sky. 

He slowly agreed to letting the hunters pick up work from the bar. He agreed, after a year of refusals and excuses, to let Libertus handle the hunters and jobs doled out by Dave. He let the rumours of aggressive beasts used to hunting the survivors of the darkness filter in and hunters filter out, even if he tried to keep his hands clean of it all. 

“You must be the hunter Lib’s hired,” he said one evening when a young man wandered in and asked about the work in the area. The guy was pretty. And had a familiar charm that Nyx could appreciate. 

It had been too long since Nyx had let someone catch his eye. He set the guilt for it aside and offered a wolfish grin to the hunter leaning up against his bar; “Pretty thing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, definitely,” he couldn’t mask his surprise at the quick response. At the smile that he had earned in answer. At the audacity that had him smiling to the Lucian who had trekked out so far from home. “But I’ll still let you buy me a drink.”

Nyx hadn’t laughed in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story picks up in [Fresh Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10727328)


End file.
